Windows and Walls
by llorolalluvia
Summary: Maybe Kocoum wasn't just a handsome sturdy husband who never dreamt that something might be coming. Maybe Thomas had his own ulterior motives. Maybe there was another mysterious character whose story has never been told. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Most of these characters belong to Disney. I don't own them. I'm just using them. That being said, enjoy.

Wave upon wave came down upon their tiny ship rising her up on crests like mountains then plunging her down to be swallowed by giant tongues of cold salt water; their enemies. The stomachs of her passengers rose and fell with the ship, twisting and tightening in sickening and uncontrollable fits of nausea. It was all the men could do to keep their grip on the task at hand: tying up the sails so the harsh winds were powerless to rip through them. Sopping clothes pulled them toward the deck and walls of water threatened to shatter their bones or sweep them into the sea, that endless stretch of icy death, yet they held firm.

The water, life sustaining, now ripped at their precious boat tearing chunks from her sides, snapping ropes. And the cannons began to slide! With the strong men in the sails, poor Thomas was the closest to the canons. Pushing with all his might he restored the heavy canon, but his muscles were not strong. His fingers worked with the ropes, quickly, clumsily, trying to make fast their hold upon the canon. He looped and pulled but gravity began to turn and he found himself sliding on the smooth, slick surface of the deck. Still he clung to the knot as the canon rebelled against its confinement, straining against the little man.

Then John was there. He held the canon steady and they began to tie it back, but the sea fought against them. She crashed through the ship again. A river surged across the deck seizing Thomas with her rapid fury. His hands, held fast to the canons just seconds before, were stretched out searching for refuge as he glided toward the sea. A crack and a pain in his back informed him of his situation as he broke through the side of the ship falling into the chaotic, spinning abyss that was the sea. His body twisted and flailed. Control gone. Which way was up? Which down? Was that another wave crashing hard against his helpless form or had he been smashed against the ship. Air. Not dry but there all the same: the surface. And there was the ship. "Help!" All was lost. The ship, their sanctuary in the raging hell, could not protect him now. A wave of terror and panic washed over him as he lost the surface once more. So this is how he would go. How careless he'd been to die in this stupid way. And yet how powerless.

Was he crying? Salt water washed to and from his eyes. Whether it was tears or ocean he could not be sure. And yet he had never felt more broken. He would die here in this perilous void. But death did not come. John did. Relief wrapped itself around him with strong arms and he was lifted from the sea. They were flying. This was his guardian angel here to take him to Heaven, he supposed. But he could still feel pain. The world spun around as the two men dangled by the rope, but Thomas could breathe. His chest felt light, free from the crushing pressure of the waves. His tongue tasted the salt in the air and let it fill him.

They hit the deck hard and Thomas coughed fiercely, unable to move, unable to seek refuge from the crashing waves. But the storm had calmed some. Waves still rocked them but no longer consumed them. It ended as quickly as it had begun. His coughing ceased and became a long sigh of relief. He had not died.

In the next few days, Thomas was unable to forget the helplessness the sea had shown him. John had been so sure, so strong. And he had not. He had been weak and had almost died. John had been the hero. It was insulting to his masculinity that he could never be the hero. He was never the one people went to for help, never the one people looked up to for purpose, and he would never be the one to save another man's life.

They were close. Land had not yet been seen but the air felt different, safer. The New World was the perfect place to start anew. A person's crimes were in the past, part of another life: the life of London. The threat of imprisonment or worse was over, gone. It was hard to believe, to accept. Running away had been the only option, and America the perfect choice for escape. Soon they would land. Soon the worries of the other world would melt away. Unless someone discovered her little secret.

Rebecca leaned over the railing, neglecting her mop and bucket, imagining she could see the land already, dreaming that she was already there. The wind wrapped around her in an innocent embrace and the salty ocean spray kissed her wistful face. Yet the knot was still present in her stomach. Surely she could not be free. All those months of living on the run, hiding from guards, sleeping in alleys… It had all been practice for the harsh life that lied ahead. Maintaining an identity as a man was easy when constantly on the move. The act was only played when necessary. But here… here it would be all the time. And here the punishment was just as bad if not worse. She would be hung if anyone ever figured it out.

Surely she could not live her life that way. What was the point? But eventually more people were bound to arrive and then Benjamin could suddenly disappear and Rebecca take his place. It wouldn't matter. Anything was better than life on the run in England and certainly preferable to death or imprisonment. Her happy mood crumbled and her gaze fell. Sighing she drew away from the rail and resumed her mopping. Suddenly the idea of being ashore was not as appealing as it had been.

He had fought bravely. That, he knew. If war was an art form, Kocoum controlled all the colors of the wind. It was what his people expected, what they needed, and what he proudly provided for them. Soon he would fulfill another expectation, one of which he knew much less, one of which he was much less sure: he would marry a beautiful Indian woman and begin his own family. He gulped. The knot in his stomach only got tighter the more he tried to calm himself.

He had fought bravely. It was true. And he was to be honored this night upon their return home with a grand feast. That was simple enough. Feasts were traditions in which he had already taken part. But soon he would be honored in another, less familiar way: with the hand of the chief's daughter, Pocahontas. She was beautiful; probably one of the more beautiful women in their village, so he knew he would be happy. After all, what else could a man require? A beautiful wife. A sturdy home. Good food to eat. Perhaps children. And honor. So why did he feel like there was something more? Surely this life was not all there was. Sometimes he wondered if things were ever going to change. As if he were waiting for something to happen. As if something more were waiting for him… just … around…

The river bend. He could see it now. The village was just around that turn. The knot twisted in the pit of his stomach and his forehead creased with worry. What if Pocahontas did not accept his offer? Powhatan had agreed quickly and cheerfully, but that was not the hard part. Kocoum knew how to deal with men. Women were a completely different matter.

As they neared the bend he could feel a second knot growing in his throat. It was bad enough knowing that he would have to face her once she knew of his proposal, but for her to see him before, innocently unaware… it would be torture. What if she could see the fear behind his stoic countenance?

Horns sounded as the warriors drew near and Kocoum knew that the entire village would be gathering at the shore for their arrival. If he was lucky, Pocahontas would not notice him in the mayhem. Maybe he could sneak away before she had a chance to.

But Pocahontas was not there. And his fear grew. Was she not there because she had no interest in the warriors? Did she not care to see if he came back alive? Perhaps her thoughts were otherwise occupied and could not be bothered with something as trivial as his life; his future; _her_ future.

Their chief Powhatan made his speech brief. But it was an eternity. Pocahontas had arrived and Kocoum could feel the faces of all the villagers (especially hers) upon him. The words of the chief were filled with praise for Kocoum, and he knew he should have felt honored, but he only felt nervous. It was all he could do to keep his expression serious and stoic to hide the anxiety he felt underneath.

She could feel the excitement, the fear. This was it. This was the new world. And it was beautiful. If she had to live a hundred years as a man it would be worth it to have seen this. The mountains, the trees, the rivers, even the dirt was beautiful to her. Of course, land itself was wonderful after so long at sea. Showing up back in London would have been a relief, at least at first. But this new world was amazing.

Rebecca had heard stories of the savages who lived in this strange land, but so far she hadn't seen any. Surely if any lived there they would have seen some houses or people or something. Maybe they had found a vacant land, though why the savages wouldn't have claimed this beautiful region she could only guess. It even smelled nice. London had never had a pleasant smell. All her life she had supposed that smell was just something to get used to. But here everything was better. Except… she had to stay dressed as a man wearing a thick coat to hide her breasts. For now that was fine, but when summer came, it was sure to be a pain. Perhaps she would have her own little house by then and could take off the coat in privacy.

Governor Ratcliff wanted gold and it was their job to find it. Thomas hoped they'd find it soon so he could stop digging. Shoveling wasn't hard, but hours of it was murder. Days of it was hell. Sweat poured from him like it would never stop. His weak body grew sore quickly and his work slowed. But the governor was a greedy man. Though he did no work himself, he expected laborious effort from the other men. This was slavery.

Their camp was an ugly, muddy mess and their tents were little comfort. Thomas didn't know what he had expected but this was not it. They should be building houses, not digging for gold. They were getting nowhere and he began to think that maybe there wasn't any gold in this area. But at least they hadn't had to fight any savages. Thomas had never been a very aggressive man. Plus, he wasn't very good with a gun.

They had pale skin and hair on their faces like dogs. They were strange; like nothing any of them had ever seen. Kocoum wanted to attack immediately and destroy the threat before it had a chance to grow. But Powhatan was wise and Kocoum knew his words to be true. They must first know their enemy before they could have a chance of defeating them.

Observing the strange men at their camp, Kocoum was intrigued by just how different they were. They dug holes in the ground night and day and cut down all the trees in a large area. Clearly they planned to stay. Why they would want to dig into the ground was beyond him, but perhaps they lived underground. That would explain their pale bodies. They carried strange weapons (what must have been weapons for they were carried with the dignity and frequency of a weapon): long grey sticks with no pointed ends. He was sure they were weapons but could not decide how they must be used.

There was a scream and a shout of some foreign word. They had been seen. Thunderous noises and shouts began to emit from the camp of the white men and the Indians began to shoot their arrows at them. The violence quickly ended when one Indian man fell over in pain. He'd been hit. Kocoum carried him on his shoulders as they made a hasty retreat.

There was no arrow in the man's leg. The wound was strange. No man had been near him and yet there was no arrow. How could the men have sent a hole into his leg without an arrow? It was impossible. It was monstrous. It was… savage.

Yep. She was going to die out here. There was no way around it. Just the simple truth. What if the Indians had come at night? She slept alone in her tent. They could easily have come into it and killed her without even waking the others. They might do it tonight. The thought terrified her. Maybe there was some place she could hide, where she would be safe. But there wasn't. There was only a group of tents and the forest beyond. The tents were the better option, and that was not saying much. Perhaps she could go back to the ship. But the savages must have seen the ship. Who could miss a huge boat out in the open sea? But would they think to look there? Was it worth the chance.

Rebecca sat leaning against a tree. She couldn't move. The savages were gone yet she still couldn't breathe. It was as if they had never gone. They were still back there shooting at her and if she moved one centimeter she would be shot. There were not that many men in their little camp. Only about 100 maybe a little more. That certainly wasn't enough to ward off armies of savages. There could be thousands of them. She shivered. There was no hope.

Later that day, the men began to erect tree trunks around the camp to create a massive wall. Rebecca sighed with relief but remained uneasy. She had never seen real violence before. It made her queasy and lightheaded. Maybe all of this was a bad idea.

That night the men gathered around a big fire as usual. Most nights it was easy to tune out the conversations around her and sometimes Rebecca actually enjoyed the talk of the men. Tonight was not one of those nights.

"You know what I miss the most?" One man sighed heavily, regretfully. Then he laughed a little "you _know_ what I miss the most." The other men laughed too. Rebecca was confused. Had she missed something?

"Only so long you can go without a woman 'fore you start to get real lonesome." Another man observed.

"Old Ratcliff doesn't seem bothered much. Course he's got that Wiggins." The men roared with laughter. Understanding rushed to Rebecca with the blood that flooded her cheeks. Men never talked like this in front of her. Not when she was a woman, anyway.

"You think we could capture a few Indian squaws?" Rebecca felt sick.

"Sure Earl why don't you just walk on down to that Indian camp and pick out a few. I'm sure they wouldn't mind sharing with us." The men laughed. Earl scowled.

"Man what I'd give for a nice blonde." Rebecca had never felt self conscious about her dark hair. She never really realized that mattered.

"Hehe yeah. Earl, when you're picking out those squaws, be sure to pick a few blondes for us." The men roared with laughter. Then it was quiet for a while.

"God. What I'd give to have some pretty little thing under me tonight." Rebecca almost gagged. She had known these men for a while, but had never heard them talk like this. It made her sick. She could only imagine what they must be seeing in their mind's eye. A sudden realization came to her then. It made her shiver and almost retch. If the men found out she was a woman, they probably wouldn't hang her. She wrapped her arms around her torso as if to hide her breasts. What if they suspected? What if they saw her when she went off alone for some privacy? Could they just have their way with her? Would they? Her head was spinning and though the conversation had ended, she felt the need to get away.

He hadn't moved an inch in hours, just staring up at the ceiling. It was late but he wasn't tired. He was worried. Pocahontas had not accepted his offer yet. He had thought she would do it right away. Then the nervousness would be over. Then he would feel brave again. But she hadn't. And why not? Why would she need to wait? It was simple. She was the daughter of the chief. He was an honored war hero. They were meant to be.

There was that feeling again. That feeling that it wasn't quite right. Sensing that there was something more he was missing. Maybe marrying Pocahontas would fill in the void and he wouldn't have to worry anymore. Maybe he would be happy settling down and starting a family. He tried to picture the two of them together. Him fishing. Her cooking. He could see himself coming home to her smile. Smiling came so easily to her. She was a free spirit. Somehow he just couldn't imagine her waiting at home for him every day.

But he could imagine the nights. That was easy. She was truly a beautiful woman and the Great Spirit had blessed her with a beautiful body. He closed his eyes and pictured her lips on his. This thought calmed his nerves a bit and he dove into his fantasy hoping to erase his doubts. He could feel the warmth of her skin on his, the softness of her breasts, the curve of her hips. He could feel her underneath him as he pressed his weight against her. He could feel her moving with him. But he couldn't see it. He just couldn't see Pocahontas being that way with him.

Not a man? That's what Ratcliff had said to him. He wasn't a man if he couldn't shoot. And he couldn't shoot. At least not very well. As if his masculinity hadn't been attacked enough. Not only was he no hero like Smith, he was also no man. Someday he would find a way to prove his manliness. He would be a hero. He would learn to shoot. And damnit he would be a man.

Thomas had been sitting against a log. It was early morning and most of the men were still asleep. They would probably be waking soon but until then Thomas was content to rest against the fallen tree. He had thought he was the only one up until he saw one young man, Ben tiptoeing toward the opening in their tree-trunk wall. The lad slipped out quietly, thinking no one saw and Thomas' brow crinkled with curiosity.

Rebecca inhaled the beautiful fragrance of the new world. Their camp no longer maintained the fresh aroma of the wilderness and she craved the beauty of the forest. Looking around intently, Rebecca decided that there were no Indians around. The forest was not very thick here and she could see for a ways. There was no reason for them to be hiding out there waiting. She decided to chance it for a nice walk through the woods. Her mood quickly improved as she wandered through the new land, practically skipping. She had seen John Smith leaving alone several times so surely it wasn't so dangerous.

After a while the sound of running water came to her attention. The idea of bathing and ridding her skin of the ever-present dirt that hovered around the camp overwhelmed her and she ran toward the sound. The water was beautiful and clear and inviting. She eagerly shed her clothes and stepped in. The icy chill of the stream shocked her at first but she gradually made her way deeper until it was to her waist. She let down her hair so that it fell to her waist. It was her treasure. Cutting it was the only precaution she couldn't allow herself to take. Pinning it up had never been a problem.

Rebecca scrubbed herself and watched the water around her darken and float away. It felt so good to have clean skin again, to be rid of that layer of grime that covered the men at camp. How did they stand it? she wondered.

Kocoum walked slowly through the woods, his head deep in thought. What if Pocahontas said no? What then? He would be shamed. But then what? Find another woman? That was the logical approach. But what other woman? Any woman should be glad to marry a warrior as brave as himself. And as handsome. It was an arrogant thought but it was well grounded. He was handsome. Even before he became a great warrior he had been popular with the women in the village. He liked the attention, but didn't prefer one woman over another. Some were more beautiful than others but other than that, there was no reason for him to prefer one over another. None of them really stood out to him.

Hopefully none of that would matter because Pocahontas would accept his offer. And what then? Then he would marry her. And continue on doing what he was doing. What was he doing? Eating, sleeping, fishing, fighting, maybe a few other things in between. Was that all that life was? What did he have to live for?

God it felt so good to be clean. And the water was so refreshing. She didn't want to return to the hard labor of the camp. To those disgusting, dirty, perverted men. And what would she tell them if they asked her why she was so clean? They wouldn't notice. Men never notice such things. Suddenly a twig broke behind her and she spun around. Screaming would seem the obvious approach but her throat would only allow a shallow gasp.


	2. Chapter 2

There he stood. Her worst nightmare. Her spontaneity had saved her life before, but leaving the camp, running carelessly through unknown woods, and especially bathing in the stream had been the worst decisions of her life. And at this rate may never have a chance to be surpassed. The look of shock upon his face was even more pronounced than the horror expressed by hers. And why shouldn't it be? She was quite a surprise.

The bright white skin of her full feminine curves reflected the light of the rising sun. It was breathtaking. Her long dark hair fell to her waist, the tips dipping into the water. Her face was frozen in shock and horror. A million fleeting ideas and emotions passed across it constantly. But those rosy red lips, parted in surprise, stood motionless, appetizing. Their deep red hue stood out so brilliantly against her pale slowly blushing skin and complimented the deep blue tones in her eyes. There was no doubt in his mind. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. But before he could say anything to calm her fears, she launched out of the water and was gone. Desperately, frantically, he chased her through the underbrush.

Her breath had been lost with the shock and she needed it now. She did not feel the thorns and rocks beneath her feet. She did not notice when deep cuts formed on her arms, the fingerprints of the branches which tried to grab her as she ran. She could only focus on that basic instinct to survive. This instinct was very familiar to her. It told her to run. Many times she had had the need to run in order to escape, to survive. He would not catch her. Somehow she would be ok. But how? Where could she run? There was nowhere for her now. Tears began to fall, clouding her vision. She might run into a tree. But there was a clearing. She leapt through the trees into the clearing, wiping tears from her eyes. She leapt right into something very solid; solid, but not rooted like a tree. Over they fell. One deep grunt and one sharp gasp before she saw him. Then a scream.

Her naked breasts were pressed against his deep brown chest and she jerked away from him. Panic overtook her and she stared down from above him, her hands on either side of his waist. His bare, muscular, copper-colored waist. Everything about this strange man was dark. Next to her soft white hands, his skin seemed unnatural, awe-inspiring. She had never seen anyone so dark, so fierce. His hair was darker than the night. Where the light shone it was almost blue. No hint of brown. And his eyes: his eyes were like shining pebbles of obsidian but full of life and surprise. She shook her head, remembering her situation and tried to pull away but he was too fast. She found herself lying on the ground staring up into those deep, questioning eyes. His hands held her elbows to the ground and his knees pinned her thighs. Would she die here? No. He wouldn't kill her.

He didn't know why she was there. He hadn't even known the new men had brought women. And he didn't know why she was naked and wet. But he knew he couldn't let her go. Something inside him told him not to release his tight grip on her arms. She didn't speak his language, but he had no questions. No verbal questions.

Her eyes were blue, like the sky. Blue eyes? But they were darker than the sky. They were like the sea. He wondered for a moment if the Great Spirit had taken a piece of the sea to put in her eyes. And her lips were redder than any lips he'd ever seen. At first glance he thought she might have been bleeding. Still, this woman was his enemy. Beautiful as she was, good as it felt to hold her beneath him, much as he wanted to press himself against her breasts once more; she was his enemy. And she must die.

Thomas dove into the clearing. There, to his horror, the angel was pinned down by a fearsome redskinned devil. But that was his angel. And he would save her. He, Thomas, the weak one, the pathetic one, would be the hero. His gun swung around and he began to load it with efficiency he'd never known, but when he glanced up, the devil was gone. And his angel lay there in the dirt; panting; naked; beautiful. He dropped the gun and ran to her. "Are you alright?" he blurted. But she didn't see him. Her mind was fast at work, thinking of something. Perhaps she was reliving the gruesome attack.

Thomas imagined what must have happened. The poor girl had been running through the woods and clearly the savage had pounced upon her. Her breath must have been knocked from her pale, weak, sumptuous body. Who knows what would have happened had he, Thomas, not arrived to save the day. The poor girl would have been subjected to the desire of that devilish animal. If he had not rescued her, she could have been killed. His only lament was that he hadn't had the opportunity to shoot the devil. But he would. Next time. There was no doubt in his mind.

Her breath and focus slowly returned and she found herself, still naked, gazing into the soft brown eyes of the man named Thomas. They were soft and boyish in comparison to the fierce, passionate, profound, black eyes of the savage Indian man. She welcomed them, not sure if she was relieved to stare into something so gentle or disappointed that they were not nearly as captivating. Awareness dawned that she was still naked and she hurried to cover herself.

"Are you alright?" he said again. It sounded like an echo though she couldn't remember him saying it before. She blinked.

"Fine." Then remembering her circumstances "Please don't tell." Thomas's brow wrinkled, confused; then smoothed.

"Oh. I won't. Did he hurt you?"

"What? Oh… No." Her eyes became hazy again. Where had he gone? What would he have done had Thomas not come into the clearing?

"Come. We should be getting back. The men will be wondering where we are." Again she returned to reality.

"Please don't tell them." She saw his eyes lighten and he smiled a little. This made her wary at first, but it seemed kind, so she relaxed some. It was refreshing to find someone so easy to trust; almost as refreshing as lying under the Indian man had been electrifying. As they walked back to her clothes, and then on to camp, she could still feel his electric touch.

He was running. Without thought. His feet took him back to his village and straight to his wigwam. Something was stirring inside him. It was strange, unsettling. An uneasiness took hold of him and he found himself anxious and unable to sit still. His heart still pounded loudly in his ears and thoughts rushed through his mind so quickly he could scarcely hold onto them before they were swept away by the next. It was foolish to think of the girl at all. It made no sense. He was making himself uneasy about her. But he couldn't hold back the image of her deep blue eyes. Something about them spoke to him and he was uncertain how to interpret it. Perhaps it was because she was a woman, but when the idea came to him to kill her, he realized instantly that it was not in his power to do so. He could no more kill that innocent, intriguing beauty than he could marry her.

Marriage. Pocahontas. Suddenly marriage seemed distant, unreal. It struck him that that was no longer the path he was on, but he quickly brushed the thought from his mind. And still, how could life ever be as it was? But that was silly. Why wouldn't it be as it was? Nothing was different. Nothing had changed. But those eyes. They held something akin to fear, but not fear. It couldn't have been fear because there had been something else, something like… trust. That must have been his imagination. And yet she hadn't squirmed. She had easily allowed him to press her into the dirt. The thought stimulated his imagination and he cut off his thoughts. Shock. She didn't move because she was consumed by shock. He tried to believe it. But couldn't.

Thomas sighed heavily. He had finally become a hero. So why did he feel so incomplete? He _had _saved her. So he was a hero. No doubt about it. So why didn't he feel any better? All he could think about all day was that savage, still out there, alive. He had failed. But the point had been to save the girl, his angel. And he had. But she wasn't his angel. She hadn't talked to him all day. She hadn't talked to anyone all day.

Thomas looked over at her. Rebecca. That was her real name. Everyone believed it to be Benjamin but he knew better. He knew her secret. And there was only one other person in the world who knew she was a woman. Other than her. But that Indian couldn't have known it was a secret. Couldn't have possibly guessed that she dressed as a man. And who would think that could possibly work with her face and figure? Now that he knew, he wondered how he had never guessed before. She was far too pretty to be a man. And her breasts. How did she hide them so well? They were so… well… it was miraculous that she was able to hide them at all. He leaned on his shovel and stared into the dirt. But he didn't see dirt. He saw a beautiful woman standing in a stream, completely naked.

He saw her dark red lips, open in surprise, turn up at the corners to a seductive smile. He saw her beckon to him and he came. His clothes were gone and he was in the water. With her. She stood just shorter than him and he pulled her tightly against him. Her large breasts were crushed against him as he held her close. And his mouth came down hard on hers. She whimpered as his tongue entered her mouth. As he roughly squeezed her against him. As he slipped inside her. She moaned as they moved together in the stream. As he, unable to get enough of her, pressed her roughly against the rocks and pressed deep inside her.

It was a good thing he'd been digging a while and was deep in his hole. The men never would have let him live it down. If only he had some cold water. But this time cold water had been the cause of his stiff arousal. Instead he began shoveling again and prayed it would go away, desperate to find other things with which to occupy his mind.

She wiped the sweat from her brow. Funny how fast one gets sweaty when wearing a thick jacket and working hard. It didn't feel like she'd had a bath just this morning. She looked around at the others. The men. Most wore nothing above the waist. Deep in the holes they dug, she imagined they were all naked. She laughed. It was a comical sight. Most of the men were old and fat. Some were a good eyeful, but couldn't affect her. Perhaps she'd just been around them too long. She was used to the way they looked and it no longer made her heart beat quicken. Or perhaps they just couldn't compete with a dark brown body and two black obsidian eyes.

Suddenly the heat was absolutely unbearable. She longed for the stream again. She needed the cool, refreshing water. Perhaps she could get away and go to the stream. Closing her eyes, she could feel the cool water against her naked body. She floated there in peace, undisturbed by Thomas. She flushed. Embarrassed that he had seen her. That he knew what she looked like. That he could picture her naked. Did he? Did he think about her like that? Like the men talking around the campfire last night? Did the Indian man?

She had been under him; pressed down by his weight. His bare knees against her bare thighs. His hands on her arms. His eyes captivating her as his body held her captive. What if? What if she hadn't screamed? And Thomas had never come? She should have felt fear, thinking that she could have been raped. Gratitude that Thomas had saved her. But she felt frustration. But that must have just been because she was a virgin and she felt like the only one who wasn't in on some secret. What these men wanted more than anything, she couldn't even imagine. But she had had a taste of it today. A taste of the fire set burning by a pair of obsidian eyes. By a pair of copper hands. A pair of naked knees against her thighs. Suddenly the burning in her skin was no longer uncomfortable. She beckoned it. Beckoned back those obsidian eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The light of the campfire lit her face so magnificently. He wondered again how he had never realized she was a woman. She had always been so quiet, so perhaps he just hadn't really noticed her. As he approached, she seemed not to see him. All alone, she sat staring into the fire, looking through it, beyond it. He sat next to her and struggled to make himself speak. "How are you?" he managed to choke out. She looked up at him, startled.

"Fine." she answered quietly. But it was just a word. It had no real meaning or significance. Her eyes stared into his untrusting and he felt hurt, but tried to understand. She felt cornered. Why should she trust him? He knew her secret. He could hurt her more than any of the other men could. But he wouldn't. He would never hurt her. She was his angel. But she didn't know that. He looked around. No other men were near their little campfire so he was sure no one would hear them.

"I have to wonder. What are you doing here?" The look on her face told him that she had expected this question. She sighed.

"It was my one chance. I had to escape. Please don't judge me." She bit her lip and looked down at the toes of her boots.

"I won't. What were you trying to escape?"

"The law." She winced at hearing her own voice admit this to him, but did not withdraw further. He hoped that was a sign of trust.

"The law?" he echoed, disbelieving. She nodded. "But, why?" She bit her lip again, harder it seemed to him. For a moment he thought she might cry.

"I'm a criminal. A wanted criminal. Bound to be hanged if anyone ever found me. Or at least imprisoned for the rest of my pathetic life."

"What did you do?" he couldn't help but ask. She looked so innocent. Surely she couldn't have done anything bad enough to merit a hanging.

"I killed a man." Her voice was so soft he thought the wind may have deceived his ears.

"What?"

"Poisoned him. But he deserved it. He was my mother's second husband. And he deserved to die for the way he treated her. But she was too weak to leave him. Too weak to do anything. I didn't think they would figure it out, but somehow they did. Now here I am. In America. My only chance at freedom. And already I've been found out. She gave a soft sob and tucked her face between her knees. Thomas was horrified. What had he done? How could he have caused her such pain? She was his angel. Gently, hesitantly, he placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him.

"There, there." he soothed. "I'm not going to tell a soul." She looked up at him then, tears glistening in her eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes made deep and dark with emotion and tears.

"Really? Do you promise?" she whimpered. She seemed so helpless. So completely dependent on him. The thought aroused him. She was under his control. His protection. He smiled down at her, sweetly. His little angel.

"Of course."

She couldn't sleep that night. Her secret was safe, but her identity was challenged. She had always been such an independent person. Never under anyone else's control. Never with that feeling of helplessness that she felt with Thomas, as if he had more power over her than she did. And she had never needed anyone. Her desire to look into those dark eyes again came close to need. They kept her awake, not allowing her any peace. He was a savage. Perhaps it was the detachment from Britain that she needed. She still did not feel free from her sentence here in America. But she had felt free beneath him. She had felt as if the petty sentence of a British lawmaker paled in comparison to the threat and danger in those beautiful eyes.

Or maybe it was more than that.

She couldn't sleep. The first birds began to chirp far before light arrived, but she knew there was no hope now. Rising from her blankets, she donned her thick jacket and left her little tent. Her feet took her past the tree-trunk wall. She told herself it was just restlessness and anxiety about having her secret discovered that kept her moving further from the camp. What if she died out here? It wouldn't matter. She had no one in the world. Her mother had been the only person in the world for her. When she had died, Rebecca had accepted that death would be worth the reward of killing that horrible man. And yet when death presented itself afterwards something kept her going, on the run, evading death. And for what? What was there for her in this world? Nothing gave her the will to survive like that pair of dark eyes.

Light grew around her and strength grew in her kindling her restlessness. Her troubled footsteps soon became a frenzied run. Tears streamed down her face. Nothing mattered in the world. She could die. She could leave this place and stop feeling so suffocated. Frustrated, she ripped her jacket away and left it in her wake. The feeling was liberating but it wasn't enough. As she ran, the threw her arms toward the sky yelling "God take me now!" and wishing never to have to calm down and accept the life she had again. For it was no life. Her emotions climbed and as they reached the peak of their struggle within her and something seemed to break, she slammed into something.

Falling over on top of him she felt something akin to relief and her emotions climaxed causing her to cry out more with the pain of her emotional struggle than with that of her collision. She looked down into his black eyes. But they were not her beautiful obsidian eyes. They were cold and held death. She practically flew away from him but he was too quick. Before she knew what had happened, she was on her knees and he was behind her holding her wrists in one hand and her hair in the other. He gave a cry and Rebecca could hear similar cries echoing around them and coming closer. Fast. Realization dawned and she immediately felt very foolish. How could she have been so stupid? She could be killed. But then, wasn't that what she wanted? To be killed? To be taken away? No. Now she felt something holding her back. Here on earth. Something of her was still left here. It was her only tie. But what? Not her mother. Not Thomas. Then who?

They leapt into the clearing where she was held speaking unfamiliar words and baring weapons ready. Their muscles and aggressive poses intimidated her and her tears continued to fall. This was not good. She could see two in front of her and one behind speaking with the man who held her violently still. Then he came to stand in front of her. The one with the obsidian eyes. Hers. Their eyes met and she could see the horror on his face.

There she was. The girl from yesterday. Her hair was hidden beneath a funny hat and she dressed the same way as the men, so he had not recognized her immediately, assuming that women in their tribe must dress differently from men as was usual. But there was no doubt. He could see her face clearly. This was the same girl. His first thought was that he couldn't allow any harm to come to her. But he shouldn't feel any need to protect her. She was not his soon-to-be wife Pocahontas. She was not his sister or even a distant relative. She was not a member of his tribe or that of an ally. She was his enemy. And she should die.

But she couldn't. their eyes locked and he saw something like hope reflected in those pools of blue. He was not so heartless. She was a woman. Not a warrior. The men were speaking, he realized, of bringing her to their village, to become their slave. He suddenly felt very possessive and protective of the beautiful woman at his feet. No matter that she was his enemy. No matter that he was engaged. No matter that he would never see her again. He had to save her.

"No." he said sharply in a tone that didn't advise arguing. The other men fell silent and stared over at him in confusion. The girl at his feet looked around fearfully, obviously wondering why they had stopped talking and what he had said.

"What do you mean?" one man dared.

"She clearly means us no harm. She has no weapon. We don't need to provoke our new enemies. At least not until the warriors arrive. We will have a better chance at defeating them if we wait. For now, she lives. Release her." Though he was no chief, Kocoum was highly respected and the men reluctantly agreed. Kocoum felt an inaudible sigh of relief pass his lips and inwardly cursed himself for getting emotionally involved with the enemy. It just didn't make any sense. "Also, I don't think we should mention this in the village. Many do not see reason and want blood. They will wish that we had not released her. It would only divide our nation in a time when we should be united more than ever. I say we should keep this secret. Don't say anything of it to anyone." It was an unusual suggestion but his words showed reason and the men nodded.

Kocoum stood his ground until the three others were far away. The girl didn't move either. Of course, she had no way of knowing what was going on and probably thought he would attack her if she tried to escape. He sighed. What now? He looked long into her deep blue eyes, full of curiosity and interest and such a profound liveliness. He wanted to stare into them all day. But he had a woman in the village and to her he must return. Pocahontas. He needed to speak with her. He bit his lip, sighing deeply, refreshingly and reluctantly left the clearing.

He was gone. Again. He was gone and she was alone. But she had been their prisoner. Was it a trap? Was it a mistake? Had they forgotten to take her with them? She stood hesitantly and looked around. There was no trace of the men. Not even footprints. She noticed her heartbeat. It was fast and seemed to pull at her. Standing there seemed almost painful. Obviously she couldn't follow the Indian men into the forest. Her only alternative seemed to be returning the way she came. Somehow, unconsciously and stopping only to retrieve her jacket, Rebecca managed to arrive back at camp before she was even missed.

The weariness from the emotional strain and the lack of sleep the previous night began to wear down on her and she wished she could just go fall asleep in her tent. But alas, there was work to be done. It was going to be a long, long day.

Damn. How could this have happened? How could he have let himself become so weak for anyone? Let alone a woman who belonged to his enemies. Idly he wondered if she was married to one of them. But somehow he didn't believe that to be the case. Somehow he knew she had never known a man's touch. He had seen it in her eyes. That curiosity. The curiosity of a virgin. A married woman's eyes would have been suspicious, but hers hadn't. They'd been merely curious. He sighed. Why did it matter? She belonged with the strange white people and he belonged with Pocahontas. And yet, how could he ever love Pocahontas now? The idea of marriage with her seemed so dull now. There was no spark there. No bright fire like the brilliant blue fire of the white woman's eyes. The truth was, he longed for her. And life could never be the same now that he had found her. Rising from his furs, he knew what must be done. He must go to Pocahontas. There was much to say.

The men had decided to take a break from work to eat their noonday meal and Thomas eagerly searched for Rebecca. There she was. Alone as usual. Sitting on a log near the edge of the camp, facing away from everyone else. He practically skipped to her side. Sitting beside her he looked up into her beautiful face. Those sad blue eyes held new sparks of life. It was refreshing to see her out of her perpetual depression. He wanted to hold her close. To tell her that everything was ok. That she didn't have to be so brave. That she didn't have to try so hard. Nothing was going to happen to her. He wouldn't let it. But instead he sat quietly beside her, enjoying her presence.

After some time he did speak. "Think we'll ever stop digging for gold?" She looked over at him and shrugged. He hesitated awkwardly. "Think we'll ever find any?" he laughed a little. She smiled. But again there was no reply. He sighed. Following her gaze he looked over the tall wall at the giant trees that surrounded them. "It sure is beautiful isn't it?" She looked over at him.

"What is?" His eyes met hers and a knot formed in his stomach. God she was beautiful. He wanted to say "you are" but hesitated.

"This land. It's so unlike anything I've ever known. It's so wild and dangerous. But it's also beautiful." She turned away, back towards the trees nodding thoughtfully.

"I think its wildness and dangerousness are part of what makes it so beautiful." She sighed wistfully. His heart throbbed. He longed to hold her in his arms, to feel her plump red lips against his own, to feel her soft white skin against his. He longed to take her by the hand and lead her to his tent, or to the stream. But he hesitated. She stood. Smiling at him one more time she left and walked slowly to her own tent. For an instant he wanted to follow her. And he almost did. But he hesitated. And the impulse was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for your reviews! Please continue to give me feedback!_

He hesitated. Only a deerskin stood between him and Pocahontas. He hardly knew what he would say when he saw her but he knew something must be said. It was not too late. She could reject his offer and … and… well he hadn't gotten that far yet. Obviously he couldn't just go off and marry the young white girl. But he also couldn't marry Pocahontas. He took a deep breath to calm himself then lifted the flap and joined the chief's daughter in her wigwam.

"Pocahontas." He began, searching for words. But she misunderstood his presence.

"I know. I'm sorry. I've been meaning to answer you. I've just had so much to think over."

"Pocahontas" he tried again.

"It's nothing personal. Everything is just so sudden. I didn't expect… and I've been having this dream… and well…"

"Pocahontas" he insisted. She stopped and looked up at him. He breathed deeply and sat next to her. "I've had a lot to think over too. And I don't know…" he hesitated. He didn't want to insult her. What if she was planning to accept him? "I'm not sure if this is right. This arrangement." He held his breath, waiting for a reply. He didn't have to wait long. Pocahontas breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh good." She sighed. "I have to admit I'm relieved to hear you say that. It's nothing personal" she reassured, "It's just that I've met someone and I don't think I could feel this way about anyone else. You understand?"

"I do. I really really do." She smiled up at him, understanding. It hadn't been so difficult after all. And now… well that was the next dilemma. What to do next.

It was dark. She should have been tired. After the stressful events of the day, not to mention the lack of sleep the previous night, she should have been exhausted. But somehow she wasn't. Somehow she was even more alive and awake now than she had been in the middle of the day. At noon she had sacrificed her grumbling stomach to the need to she had for sleep. Now, no longer hungry or tired, she was restless.

A wall of tree trunks. So sturdy. So definite. Very protective. It could keep the entire Indian nation outside.

But it couldn't keep her inside.

Rebecca found herself leaving the comfort of the camp to wander once again through the wilderness. Something inside her continued to warn against this foolishness. But another, stronger part insisted she carry on. Staring straight ahead the whole time, her feet took her where she knew she needed to be. The clearing. Where she had seen those eyes, darker than the night. He had to be there. If he felt anything for her. But why should he? What made her think that he felt anything for her, his enemy? She shook her head. It didn't matter. She felt enough for the both of them. And she needed to see him.

Standing in the empty clearing, she didn't allow herself to doubt that he would be there. Something inside her knew that she would break if she realized that he didn't think of her. That he was probably sleeping next to a beautiful Indian woman completely unaware of the passion she felt for him. But the clearing was empty. At least as far as she could see.

She was truly a beautiful creature. He couldn't tell which was whiter, the moon or her. It's glow reflected from her flawless skin and he could see her eyes. They were dark in the night, but gleamed with the moonlight and hope. But that didn't make sense. Why would she be hopeful? Why would she be here in the clearing? Again? Without protection? A flicker of doubt crossed her face followed almost immediately by a stubbornness to submit to that doubt. And he knew it was time.

Stepping into the clearing he watched her jump with fear. Her untrained eyes had thought she was alone. But she hadn't been. Not all day. And never again. Because she was with him. And that could never be changed. Cautiously he approached her and she remained still. He knew she had come to see him, but still worried that he might scare her away.

She felt a chill run down her spine. But it wasn't a chill. It was hot. A hot shiver. He was approaching her. Her beautiful Indian man. And his eyes shone with desire. The same desire she could feel burning inside her, rippling across her skin. A tightness formed inside her and she felt a sudden urgency to calm it. When he was just inches from her, she let out a whimper. It was not fear. It was intense emotion and need.

He lifted one dark brown hand to her face. The feel of it was so warm and caused an electric shock to run through her. She needed more. His eyes were darker than the night around them, but held such a brightness that lit a fire within her. She reached up to run a hand through his hair. The silky strands brushed her fingers and she needed more. Clenching a fist in his hair she pulled him to her, curious.

Their lips met.

It was an incredible feeling for both. It was an agreement of sorts, an understanding. And they both knew its power. Their lips locked and brushed against each other with a fierce gentleness that left both of them needing more. A warm hand found a full breast and Rebecca moaned from the sensation. She felt him pull her against him. She felt his stiff arousal press hard against her. Eager. Begging for more.

Suddenly Rebecca felt brave. Her hands wandered the hard lines of the Indian man's body. Sought comfort in the hot, sweaty flesh. They were pressed together, but she needed more. But how? How could they possibly be closer than they already were? He answered her question.

Removing her clothes, Kokoum found the soft skin of his white lover. The silky texture left him with such a need. He wanted to feel her soft skin against his. He wanted to know that she was his. He pulled her trousers off quickly, hoping she wouldn't refuse. But she seemed eager to be rid of the hot garments. Shedding his own clothes, he explored the curves of her body with his hands. He ran a hand down her back to her soft buttocks and squeezed her, pulling her hard against him.

Then they were on the ground. He couldn't get enough of her. He knew she was a virgin and the first time would be painful, but she needed him too. And he was more than glad to oblige. Kissing her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, he slip his hand between her thighs. She gasped from shock and pleasure and opened them for him as he rubbed her there. His hands became urgent, eager, and she became restless, begging him to sooth her. And he obliged. Pressing inside her he felt a fire stir inside him, like none he had ever felt before. It was all he could do to stop himself from ravaging her body.

Her eyes tightened and she whimpered as he broke through the barrier there. His forehead creased with the worry of hurting her, and the strain of holding back. Finally, knowing it was necessary, he plunged deep inside. It was like nothing he had ever felt, nothing he had ever imagined. She was so tight. So hot. So soft. It was painful to keep himself still for her. But he knew she needed to recover first.

Had he broken her? She couldn't tell. It was almost as if she had been split in two. She had never felt such pain before. But she refrained from screaming. She didn't want him to leave. Even if it was pain for her, it was pleasure for him and she loved him. Slowly the pain began to pass and a new sensation took its place. It was odd, but… good. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His eyes were fiercer than ever and she could see the passion there. Her frown faded and she felt him move inside her. She moaned. Her eyes closed with pleasure and she couldn't put words to thoughts. He moved against her again and she knew she had never felt so wonderful. Soon she began to move with him and he seemed to like that. She ran her hands along his back, digging into his shoulders with each thrust.

Faster they moved. And faster. Her emotions and physical pleasure growing with each breath she took. And as they grew she thought she would burst from the sensation. Harder and harder he pressed into her. Deeper and deeper. Then she felt a quake within her and they both moaned from the shattering bliss of their climax. He collapsed on her. And she truly felt like she had died. But it wasn't a bad thing. It was a very very good thing.

He rolled over, bringing her to rest on top of him and soon they were both asleep.

His eyes opened reluctantly. It was morning. Late morning. And the birds were loud around them. But there was no rush. They were alone in the world. He looked next to him at his beautiful bride. There had been no official ceremony but she belonged to him. The love he felt for her was far more binding than any tradition. And the better for it. They could not be married in her village but they could also not be married in his. So they should be married between, in the grass of the clearing. And they were. In his eyes. And that was enough.

She stirred. Her dark red lips moved and she sighed. He brushed her dark hair from her face and watched her sleeping, his longing growing. The grass between her legs was stained from her first night with him. Their lovemaking would forever remain a part of these woods. Her eyes opened, bluer than he remembered and more beautiful. They stared into his understanding, knowing that they could be happy just by looking into each other's eyes. And they were.

But they could also be happy by doing more than just staring into each other's eyes. And they soon repeated the activities of the night before. In the clearing they were separate from the rest of the world. They needed nothing and no one else. It didn't matter that noon was pressing close and neither village knew where their respective missing persons were. It didn't matter that they would be questioned and would not have answers that would be accepted by their people. All that mattered was that they were together. And for now that was all they needed.

But as the noon passed, they accepted that they would have to leave, but both knew that they would meet again. Soon.

Rebecca left her lover reluctantly and headed to the stream. She would never be able to explain smelling like a woman who just had sex. And she did. The stream was cool and inviting. It reminded her of the first time she had seen Kokoum, her lover. She bathed with a newfound immodesty. What did it matter if anyone saw her now? She was not ashamed. Humming to herself, she scrubbed away the evidence.

Kokoum was so lost in thought he didn't even see Chief Powhatan until he practically walked into him. "Kokoum" the chief began. Kokoum looked up at the chief, hiding his surprise like the stoic Indian warrior he was. "Pocahontas and Nakoma are in the cornfield. I worry about their safety. They should not be alone." He said no more. But he didn't have to. Kokoum understood and nodded to the elder.

Almost absentmindedly he walked to the cornfield and through it. The chief had not seen the passion in his eyes. But would Pocahontas. She knew his secret. Though she had no idea that his lover was a white woman, she knew he was in love. And she would see his thoughts. There were voices. He called out "Pocahontas. Pocahontas?" as he approached.

He stepped through another row of corn and saw Nakoma, but no Pocahontas. Immediately he was filled with disappointment. He was almost bursting with the need to see someone he could tell about these incredible feelings he now had. "Nakoma?" he began an octave lower with his disappointment. "Where is Pocahontas?" He would just have to wait, then. And hope his love for this strange woman didn't cause him to explode.

"I-I haven't seen her." Nakoma began, unconvincingly. So Pocahontas had run off with her lover, then. Well he supposed it was fair that she should have her little affair as well. But he couldn't help the ache inside to tell her all about the night he had spent with Rebecca, his lover. But it wouldn't do to interrogate Nakoma. He was a warrior. He was strong. He could handle keeping a secret. But not for very long. He sighed.

"Pocahontas can't keep running off." He heard himself say with heavy frustration. Hopefully his frustration would just look like that of a man who was in love with Pocahontas and wanted to see her for that simple reason. Nakoma could never know the truth. She wouldn't understand. "It's dangerous out there." He reasoned. "Tell her that." He could feel himself deflate with disappointment. "She listens to you." Frustrated, Kokoum decided that this was a good statement to end on and left her there.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey first off I want to thank those who reviewed my fic. You're the reason I write. Secondly I know it's confusing that I changed the title from Behind The Scenes, but ever since the second day I was writing and I looked at the title and thought "yuck. What was I thinking?" I've known that it needed a new name. Still not great. I suck at naming things, but better I think.

Thomas stepped out in front of the tree trunk wall once more. Where was she? It was getting late and she had been missing all day. Dread consumed him that she might have gone to the stream and been taken captive, but when he had gone to the stream he hadn't seen any sign of her. Hopefully she would be back soon. Still, he was feeling rather uneasy, so it was not a wonder he almost shot John Smith when he snapped a twig close behind. "Easy Thomas it's me." He said.

Thomas gasped. "Oh John. I could've killed you." But John just laughed.

"Not aiming like that you wouldn't." he came over to Thomas to demonstrate. "Keep both eyes open when you shoot. You'll see twice as well." Then he was gone. With one more look around for her, Thomas stepped back inside the safety of the camp.

There the gov was questioning John about where he had been. "I was out scouting the terrain, sir." Smith answered.

"Excellent." The governor replied. "Then you must know the Indians' whereabouts. We will need that information for the battle."

"What battle?" Smith interrupted almost angrily, it seemed to Thomas.

"We will eliminate these savages once and for all."

"No! You can't do that." Smith was definitely angry. But why? Thomas stared intently at his curious captain almost forgetting the girl with his curiosity.

"Oh. Can't I?" replied Ratcliff so coolly that Thomas felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Look. We don't have to fight them." That was it. Thomas couldn't remain a spectator. He was too interested.

"John, what's gotten into you?" he interrupted.

"I met one of them." Smith answered simply. Thomas was taken aback. Apparently so were the other men who quickly joined the conversation.

"You what?" one interrogated.

"A savage?" Thomas accused.

"They're not savages." Smith replied impatiently. "They can help us. They know the land. They know how to navigate the rivers. And look." He pulled something strange from his bag, "It's food."

"What is it?" the men wanted to know.

"It's better than heart attack and gruel, that's for sure."

"I like gruel." the pathetic brown-noser Wiggins felt the need to add.

Ratcliff had heard enough. He interrupted angrily. "They don't want to feed us you ninnies! They want to kill us! All of us! They've got our gold! And they'll do anything to keep it!"

"But there is no gold." Smith interrupted.

"No gold?" all were in disbelief.

"And I suppose your little Indian friend told you this?" Ratcliff teased.

"Yes." Smith replied firmly, holding his ground.

"Lies!" Ratcliff attacked. "Lies! All of it! Murderous thieves! There's no room for that kind in civilized society."

"But this is their land!" Smith countered.

"This is MY land!" The governor was enraged. "I make the laws here! And I say: 'Anyone who so much as looks at an Indian without killing him on sight will be tried for treason and hanged!"

Kokoum looked up. In the distance he could hear war cries. "The warriors are here!" he heard shouted and everyone ran to the riverbank to welcome their allies. Kokoum followed, not sure what to think of the arrival of these warriors. It would mean that their war would begin soon. But he mustn't appear so unhappy. Their arrival was good news. People would be suspicious if they saw his uncertainty. Then he saw Pocahontas. Finally he would be able to talk to her about his new found love. He walked over to where she stood with Nakoma. "There you are."

"Kokoum." Pocahontas seemed surprised. He didn't want to embarrass her thinking that maybe he interrupted some secret conversation and took this opportunity to fortify the idea that he was happy that the warriors had come and that he hadn't noticed her embarrassed surprise.

"Look at them." He began and he anchored her shoulders with his arm in hopes that she might get the message that he wanted to talk to her. "Now we have enough warriors to destroy those white demons." Something inside him hurt with these words for he knew them to be false. He did not want to see these strange men die. Well, he did not want to see a particular woman put in danger.

The two chiefs turned to their people and Powhatan spoke. "Now that we are joined by our brothers, we will defeat this enemy." Again Kokoum's heart plummeted and Pocahontas was gone before he could stop her. Disappointment filled him anew.

Anxiety filled him as the counsel gathered. Why should he feel this way about her at all? It was all so strange. They didn't even speak the same language. But he felt like he knew her. Like he really could read her soul through her eyes. They were truly very expressive. More expressive and bold than any eyes he had ever seen. But what seemed so strange to him about them, what appealed to him most, was that they seemed so trusting. Perhaps it was her naivety that led her to be so trusting. But it was different. It was as if she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Not that she never considered the possibility. As if she could see past his stoic façade to what he really thought, what he really felt. He had looked into other eyes before, but had never known until he met her that he only looked at those eyes, not through them. He sighed heavily. Maybe that was what made her so attractive. Before he had seen her pale skin had held no appeal. The strange new men were ugly. Their skin looked sick. But hers didn't. She was flawless. And that had to have been because he cared about her. It was true. How could he deceive someone so trusting? How could he not live up to her expectations of him? He couldn't stop thinking about her.

Rebecca sat by the campfire. The men were still awake so there was little chance for her to escape. But hopefully they wouldn't stay up too late tonight and she could go to the clearing soon. Idly, she stared at the flames. The fire. The burning passion and heat rippling before her. She had never felt passion like this before. Lust, sure. But this… this was different. This strange man could have killed her 3 different times now. But now he was hers. And she was his. And even though she couldn't talk to him, she knew he would never hurt her. He knew that there was more to this than lust. She had seen it in his eyes. His reluctance to get too close to her at first. His need to do exactly that. His fight with himself because of these battling forces within him. And finally the incredible joy that shone in his eyes when he chose the right side and passion won.

But was it just that? Passion? Surely not. Because he had hated his attraction to her at first. She had seen that when he saved her from the other Indian men. How he had grudgingly given in to the fact that he couldn't see harm happen to her. How he wished he could have looked at the situation objectively. No. This was more than passion. But what was it?

"Yeah I heard Smith talkin' 'bout his Indian friend today." Rebecca's attention was suddenly fully centered on the man who was speaking. "He's got himself a pretty little squaw and he's not sharing." Rebecca would have been disgusted if she hadn't been so shocked by the news that John Smith also had an Indian lover. Then maybe nothing bad would come of it after all.

"Yeah I heard about that." Another man chimed in. Rebecca moved closer. So did many others. "Heard he's gonna get in real good with her so she trusts him, you know? That way we have an advantage. You know, find out what their weaknesses are." Rebecca almost gasped aloud. Her heart was pounding. So it was a trick. He was deceiving the poor girl and was going to use her to get to the chief. How cruel.

For an instant she doubted the sincerity of her own lover, but then she remembered those eyes. They couldn't lie to her. He couldn't lie to her. After all, they spoke different languages. And she could read his eyes like the pages of a picture book.

"Yeah it's a new strategy 'cause they're a real tough group o' injuns. But Smith's smart. And he knows his way around a savage or two. We're sure to win this battle." Rebecca felt sick. She knew she needed to tell Kokoum as soon as possible. But… how?


	6. Chapter 6

She was running. Running through the woods. Late at night. Barefoot. The ground hurt beneath her feet. But she didn't care. She was going to see him. Her heart was racing aggressively in her chest and she told herself it was because she had terrible news for Kokoum and because she would be committing treason and turning her back on her people if she told him of their plan. It wasn't because she ached to feel him against her, inside her. It wasn't because she longed to see his beautiful body and to look into those deep meaningful eyes. It was because she cared about him and he was in danger. Grave danger.

Her feet took her to the clearing and panting she stopped in the middle and crouched to catch her breath, searching the trees for some sign of him. There he was. Majestic. Powerful. Beautiful. In the moonlight she could see his impatience as he walked calmly toward her. He couldn't fool her with his stoic demeaner. Even in the dark night she could see the fire in his eyes.

Her breath caught. There had been, a moment before, something very important she needed to do. But he was here. He was coming closer. And he wanted her. Her heart pounded in her chest as he stood before her and raised a hand to her chin, steadying it. She gasped like a virgin when he placed his mouth on hers. But she reacted like a longtime lover. Their arms tangled around each other as they fought to move closer and feel the other against them. Their mouths moved impatiently together as their hands worked to remove each other's clothes. Soon they were on the ground, pressed together once again, adding their sweet lovemaking to the sounds of the night.

***

Kokoum woke the next morning with an angel draped across him. He sighed into her sweet, dark hair and ran his fingers along the skin of her back. Her soft breasts were pressed against his chest. considering that, his mind should have been full of lustful thoughts about what he would do when she woke up or how he might wake her up. Surprisingly all he could think of was how happy he was to have found her. Sex or no sex. She was his match. And even if it made no sense, even if it could never be, it was. It was. Right now, he was happier than he had ever been. Happier than he had ever imagined he could be. And it was all because of a strange pale woman with curious blue eyes. He sighed deeply and tangled his fingers in her hair.

Eventually his little dreamer woke and tilted her head up to look into his eyes. Hers said "good morning" and he answered with a smile. They didn't need words. Suddenly he noticed some spark in her eyes. Some surprise or recognition. Perhaps a realization. A bad one. She sat up and he could see that she was worried. He took her hand in his and showed her his concern.

***

How could she have forgotten? This was incredibly important to the future of her lover's tribe and possibly how long he may live and she had just forgotten to tell him. How ridiculous. Sure, he had some sort of magical spell over her that some may have called love and others would have written off as lust, but this was absolutely ridiculous. But no need to dwell on the past. Now she had to find a way to tell him. How? She crawled off of him and toward a patch of dirt and beckoned him to her. Looking down at the dirt she took a deep breath and began her explanation. Some things couldn't be said with eyes alone. Unfortunately.

She drew a woman in the dirt and pointed toward his village, then drew a man and pointed towards hers. His brow furrowed but he seemed to understand what she was saying, if not why. She sighed again. She put their hands together. "umm." she thought aloud. "How do I explain this? Uh, this woman," she gestured toward the woman, "is in love," she brought her hands clasped to the side of her face and made a ridiculous but obvious impersonation of a person in love, "with this man," she pointed to the man. Taking another deep breath she pointed to the man again. "this man is bad," she made sinister eyes at Kokoum which he seemed to understand, "and is pretending to love her," she made the sinister face again, then a clearly false face, then the evil one again, "and... umm. Well he's going to... betray her." Rebecca sighed in frustration, but Kokoum didn't seem too confused.

Scratching his chin, Kokoum pointed to the man and said something in his language. Then he held his arms up as if they were holding a gun and made a like noise followed by more of his language. Then he pointed to the woman and pointed toward his village. Rebecca nodded, showing both her relief that he understood and her worry about what he understood. Still she wanted to be sure he knew what she was trying to say. In the dirt she drew many men with guns and drew many men with bows and arrows facing away. Between she put the picture of the girl. Miming and pointing she tried to convey once more that the man was going to use the girl to get to the villagers. But Kokoum just nodded his head and made a gesture with his hand that he understood.

***

How could this have happened? Kokoum thought. The women in his village had been warned from the very first day that the white men were dangerous. Had he not known Rebecca, he would have thought that white men were all evil and not to be trusted. But clearly they were just like other tribes. Some were good and some were bad. Considering that they were enemies it made sense that they would behave so wickedly. Still his insides burned with a hatred and at the same time a guilt. But he was not sure if that guilt was for hating the people of his lover or for loving the enemy of his people. He sighed in aggravation. Rebecca's cool, soft hand came to rest on his knee and he looked into her sad eyes. She was telling him she understood and sympathized with him. He tried not to misunderstand it as pity. It wasn't pity.

The sun was rising higher and Kokoum could see his lover's increasing worry and aggitation. She kept glancing toward her village as if they would come to find her any moment. Reluctantly, the lovers embraced and kissed each other goodbye. As he walked back to his village, Kokoum could feel his thoughts and emotions brewing inside him. It didn't make sense that he was with this white woman. It didn't make sense that she would betray her people to tell him of their plan. Yet he was and she had. He loved her. His feet stopped moving and his eyes drew wide. Did he? Yes. That had to be it. There was no other word to describe it. No other explanation for their peculiar circumstances. It had to be exactly that. He loved her. His feet continued their pace and his eyes fell to the ground. A smile spread across his stoic features and he couldn't seem to hide it. The edges of his mouth pricked and his cheeks tingled with a need to continue smiling. He even laughed out loud.

***

Thomas was the only one to notice Rebecca sneaking back into the camp. He wished someone else would see and tell her not to leave again. It was dangerous out there. You'd think it'd be harder for someone to just walk right in, he thought bitterly. He didn't want her wandering off. That savage from before might find her and then what? But he couldn't tell her not to. He just couldn't. He rolled his eyes. Why did he have to be such a wimp? The brave thing to do would be to tell her up front that she couldn't keep running off like that and that if she did it again he would have to take drastic action. But he wasn't brave.

But he could be. His frown became a look of determined anger as he walked over to Rebecca. She had only just begun to dig and yet her back was stained with moisture. He could tell it was only from the sopping wet hair she hid underneath that cap. Why she insisted on bathing in such a dangerous place and so completely defenseless he would never know. She caught his glance and her eyes grew wide. He must have looked quite fiersome. His chest swelled a bit with this idea as he motioned for her to follow him. A little ways from the group, out of view and earshot Thomas turned his fury on his angel.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?! This is no place to wander off on your own, especially for something as trivial as a bath!" Her pretty lips parted in surprise at his outburst. She stammered nervously over her words. Girls had never acted like this around Thomas. He kind of liked it. And yet it made him feel kind of guilty as well.

"I-I I only wanted... I didn't think that... I just get so sweaty in this huge coat. You don't understand." She was scared. Part of him thrilled at this new experience and part of him regretted being so harsh with her. Yet he continued. After all, this was for her own good.

"No you don't understand Rebecca! You could be killed out there! You're lucky I don't give away your secret and let them do as they will and yet you test my confidence by exposing yourself to almost certain harm. Do you have any idea what one of those savages would do to you if they found you?" If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Rebecca was angered by his last words. "I'm sorry Rebecca but if you don't obey my good judgement and stay in this camp, I won't be able to stand silently by and watch. If I see you leave this camp again... well, you'll regret it."


	7. Chapter 7

"You'll regret it," he had told her. It was a clear warning. And yet there she was sneaking off again. But it was night. Did she think by bathing under the cover of night he wouldn't know? She obviously underestimated the frequency with which he studied her beautiful visage. Thomas sat at the campfire wondering what to do next. Should he follow her? Wait for her at camp and yell at her again? He had threatened to reveal her identity. How could he just not… what was that? John Smith slipped between the logs. Was that it then? The two of them sneaking off together? Thomas's heart filled with envy, but he waved it away. Surely John was leaving for something completely different altogether. And yet he could help but wonder.

Peering out of camp to watch John run the opposite direction of the creek, Thomas was not sure what to think. Suddenly a large hand pushed Thomas through the opening. "Follow him," directed the stern voice of Ratcliff.

"Yes Gove'na" was Thomas's immediate and automatic response.

"I want to know where he's sneaking off to."

"Yes sir." Why hadn't he just stayed by the campfire? Now he would have to report back to Ratcliff whatever John was doing. How could he lie? What if John was with Rebecca? She could be hanged.

"And if you happen to see any Indians, shoot them." Ratcliff tossed Thomas a gun, but all Thomas could think about was what he would tell Ratcliff when he returned. Hopefully Smith was doing something completely different altogether. "Oh and Thomas," the evil voice continued, to Thomas's dismay. "You've been a slip-shod sailor and a poor excuse for a soldier. Don't disappoint me again." With that the governor was gone and Thomas was left with no alternative but to follow John and pray Rebecca hadn't gone the same way.

Kokoum was becoming anxious. He should wait a little longer, but then he would be able to see his beautiful lover. Still the news from the morning worried him. War was on the horizon and he didn't want to see it come. He sat outside his wigwam sharpening a spear point, preparing for a war. If war came, he would have to use it. When war came. It was a natural thing to do, so he would not appear suspicious to be lurking outside so late. Really, he was waiting for the right time to leave.

"Kokoum." It was the voice of Nakoma. But, she never sought him out. Something must have been wrong.

"What is it?" He said. His worry clearly evident. Nakoma looked unsure. What could have possibly been wrong?

"It's Pocahontas." She continued hesitantly. An instinctual protectiveness fell over Kokoum. Had her lover done something to harm her? If so, it would be partly his fault. Worried, he stood to face Nakoma.

"What's wrong? Is she alright?" he inquired.

"I think she's in trouble." Nakoma admitted. Then something must have gone wrong. His present worries seemed to build on top of each other as he tried to remain calm and listen to Nakoma's explanation.

Rebecca had never been the first one to the clearing. Maybe Kokoum was hiding from her like the first night, to see how she reacted. Minutes passed and Rebecca was sure that she was alone. Which way would he come from? How should she wait for him? Perhaps she could turn his own ways against him and hide in the brush. The thought of watching her unsuspecting lover waiting for her tickled her imagination and, giggling a little, she positioned herself comfortably out of sight.

There were footsteps. Someone running. Rebecca's heartbeat quickened with excitement. But that someone was not Kokoum. It was a woman speaking a language, seemingly to herself.

"Pocahontas," came a familiar voice. Rebecca stifled a gasp of surprise and terror. John Smith was here, in her clearing, with an Indian woman. So this was the girl he planned to betray.

"John." Replied the Indian woman. Suddenly Rebecca felt like she was intruding. What might they do here? What if they found her? But in the same instant she felt pity for the woman. The way she called John's name. She trusted him, just as Rebecca trusted Kokoum. And he was betraying her.

"Listen to me," John began. "My men are planning to attack your people." Rebecca's heart dropped in her chest. It was a lie. John was never planning to betray this woman. He loved her too. But how were they having a conversation… in English? "You've got to warn them." Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest. Then she had misinformed Kokoum. What if he had told the village? She needed to tell him immediately that she had been wrong. John Smith loved this woman. He was no enemy.

"Maybe it's not too late to stop this." The woman began, and Rebecca was surprised to hear her perfect English. "You have to come with me and talk to my father."

"Pocahontas talking isn't going to do any good. I already tried talking to my men." But that wasn't what Rebecca had heard. The men she had talked to had thought that John wanted to fight. "Everything about this land has them spooked."

Rebecca had heard enough. John was not lying to this woman. He was telling the truth. Her head began to spin and panic grew inside her. What could she do now? She ignored the voices in the clearing and tried to concentrate only on what she would do now. Kokoum was sure to be coming this way soon. What if they didn't move first? What would he do?

Silence in the clearing caught her attention. Had they left? No. They were kissing. They were kissing like two people were always meant to kiss. There was complete trust on behalf of both of them that while they were together nothing could go wrong. It was the same trust Rebecca felt when she was with Kokoum. As if the rest of the world ceased to exist, leaving the two enemies at peace with each other.

Thomas peeked through the leaves at the pair in the clearing. It was not Rebecca. She was safe.

Kokoum watched the white man kiss Pocahontas. He had never considered Pocahontas naïve. Yet here she was, trusting a man who was planning to betray her. His anger rose quickly as he watched her kiss him with such trust. How could anyone be so evil as to betray that trust? His anger was so great he couldn't keep it inside any longer. Rushing into the clearing he made his fury known in an earsplitting shriek of war.

Rebecca choked. Her body went cold and numb, shaking with the dawning of her understanding. Unable to breath, unable to move, unable to say anything to stop the horror before her eyes, she remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the horrific scene in her clearing.

Kokoum ran for the white man, this evil object of his rage and loathing. Knocking him to the ground he ignored Pocahontas's shriek of protestation. She didn't know what he knew. He pulled out his tomahawk and aimed for his enemy. Explaining could come afterwards.

Suddenly he was on his back. This white man was skilled. But he was better. He pulled out his knife and charged the ugly, wicked man once more. Wrestling with this enemy, Kokoum strived to plunge his knife into the neck. Pocahontas continued to yell and tried to pull Kokoum away from her betrayer. Impatiently he cast her aside.

Almost there.

His gun was loaded and Thomas lifted it to his eyes. Finally he would repay John for saving his life. Finally he would kill the savage who had threatened his angel. Finally, he would be a hero.

A gunshot pierced the air.

All movement ceased.

The echo of surprise rang in her ears and her heartbeat hammered painfully in her chest. Who had a gun? He was falling. Her lover. Kokoum. He was falling. He grabbed the necklace of the woman who had tried so desperately to stop him as he fell toward the water. He didn't move. Her lover. Kokoum. He didn't move. He was frozen, as she was, in time, in space, on the ground, in the water. And the woman fell to the ground beside him. Rebecca's heart stopped. Her body was a statue in the bushes. She had lost all ability to move.

Three words were all she heard. "You killed him." Thomas was in the clearing and Rebecca understood. He was gone. She was empty. A whole opened up inside her and she doubled over retching. She had nothing inside her. Literally. As her body tried to dispel the contents of her empty stomach, Rebecca felt hot trails of water pouring from her eyes. Her eyes which would never again stare into two pebbles of black obsidian.

It was all her fault. She was the one who had told him about John. And she had been wrong. She was the reason Thomas had come into the woods. And he had only done what he thought was right. She was to blame. Her ears were ringing. Her throat and chest were throbbing. Her stomach squeezed itself trying to give up the empty, gaping hole inside to the ground. It wouldn't come.

There were men in the clearing. They were carrying Kokoum. Already they were out of the clearing. They were taking him away. No! She couldn't let them. She had to see him. She had to be sure. She had to say goodbye. Or else she would live her life always wondering. Somehow she had gotten to her feet. Her thick coat and inner torment made her clumsy as she ran toward the group of men. They saw her coming. Kokoum's face was toward her, and his eyes fluttered, just once. They connected with hers.

She didn't see the tomahawk crashing down toward her head, nor would she have blamed the man for trying to protect the group from the crazed white man running toward them. He couldn't have known.

Both sets of eyes glazed over, never to see again. But they had seen each other. If only for one last time.


	8. Chapter 8

He had killed a man. That was what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to shoot any Indian on sight. He was supposed to protect his comrade. He was supposed to repay John for saving his life. He was supposed to kill the man who had posed a threat to his angel. Why, then, did he feel this remorse? The Indian woman had yelled at him and John had taken her side. As if he wouldn't have done the same thing. It didn't make any sense. The savage needed to be stopped.

But it wasn't just that. He had killed a man. He had ended a life. A body would no longer move, because of him. A voice would no longer speak because of him. A set of eyes would no longer open because of him. All because of him. He wished he hadn't shot the savage. He wished he had never left the fort. He wished he had never threatened Rebecca, or even discovered her secret in the first place.

Rebecca.

Where was Rebecca?

But he was at the fort. And John was still in the woods. He had heard the awful screams of the savages coming to the aid of their kinsman. He knew John was not behind him. The savages probably took him away. All his fault. They would not be happy to see their warrior dead. They would attack. Starting with John. All his fault. There was the fort.

"Help! Somebody help! Help! Help!" he yelled as he approached.

"Easy lad, what is it?" Thomas couldn't seem to breath.

"It's Smith. They got him!" he cried as he ran inside.

"Who got him?"

"The savages!"

"Savages?"

"They captured him! Dragged him off!"

"Where'd they take him?"

"They headed north."

"How many were there?"

"At least a dozen."

The whole camp had erupted into panic. Everyone liked John and he was the key to defeating the savages. What would they do now?

"We've got to save him!" Thomas proclaimed. "He'd do the same for any of us." He knew too well that this was true.

"Thomas is right. We've got to do something."

"And so we shall!" came the booming voice of the governor. There was not stopping it now. A war had started.

As the men all began preparing for the war at sunrise, Thomas searched for Rebecca. She was not in camp. Not at the creek. He didn't know where else to look. But perhaps she had run to the clearing when she heard the commotion. Doubtfully, Thomas went to the clearing where he had killed a man.

He didn't even make it all the way there. Lying between the trees was a dark figure, bundled up in a thick jacket and completely frozen. His heart stopped.

She was dead. Cradling her in his arms, Thomas cried. It was all his fault. He never should have shot the savage. She wouldn't be dead if he hadn't. Remorse consumed him as he buried his angel in the clearing where the demon had died. As he said a prayer he looked around her final resting place.

He was contented to think that she would forever remain a part of such a beautiful place.

Returning to the camp, Thomas felt such deep regret and guilt. He was to blame. Above everything what he needed now was to be forgiven. To have this burden lifted from him.

there was no war. All the preparations. All the tensions. All the reasons to kill each other. Somehow led to the chief of the Indian tribe proclaiming that he would not make war, even though minutes before he had been planning to bash John's head in.

Thomas was touched. Though the chief could not know who had killed his compatriot, Thomas felt that he had been forgiven. Allowing John to survive was like allowing Thomas to live. He felt like he was the one up there prepared to be punished for his crime, then suddenly rescued by some angel from heaven. He felt cleansed.

"Now is our chance!" cried Governor Ratcliff. "Fire!"

Thomas didn't even have to think. "No!" He had found his strength. He didn't need to shoot to be a man. He didn't need to kill to be a hero. He could be strong.

"What?"

"They let him go!" For once Thomas did not lower his eyes. He was in the right. He remained strong. The other men began to chime in, all on Thomas's side. There he stood as their figurehead. Their leader. But Ratcliff was a greedy man.

Ratcliff had already lost his men to Thomas, but firing at the chief sealed the deal. John, brave man that he always was, took the shot, saving the chief and turning everyone against Ratcliff.

As the men seized Ratcliff, and later chained him up to be sent back to England, Thomas took command. The chief's daughter, John's lover, approached as they loaded the ship and Thomas went to meet her.

"Going back is his only chance. He'll die if he stays here." She acknowledged his words by resting her hand on his arm. And in her eyes he could see her forgiveness. As he stood on the banks and watched the ship leave, he was at peace, for he was finally on peaceful land. Here a war had been prevented. Here he had learned to be a strong man. Here he had buried an angel and no one would ever know her secret.


End file.
